


I Promise (Not)

by zuzallove



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Humor, M/M, New York, Singer Jaskier, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22189651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzallove/pseuds/zuzallove
Summary: It's modern era New York.Jaskier is an aspiring singer/songwriter who pisses off the wrong person.Geralt is the man supposed to beat him up.It's not that simple, though.“Yen,” Gorgeous growled into the phone. “Did you know that I was called away from the Marini deal tonight because a twink that looks twelve accidentally offended that moronic cousin of yours?”Jaskier gasped, putting a hand on his heart to show him how outraged he was.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 159
Kudos: 2639
Collections: The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. 1

_If this were a song_ , Jaskier thought _, this would be the point where I would make an adventurous, hasty exit, possibly meeting the love of my life in the interim, and then we would run away together while holding hands._

Life was no song, Jaskier knew by now. _Fuck_.

“So, what’s that you were saying about my mother, twink?”

Admittedly, it had been easier to spout insults without the two gorillas holding him up by one arm each. Blame the alcohol, or whatever.

“Look, man, I’m sorry,” he apologised, opting for a switch of tone. “I don’t even know whose party this is. I just saw some gorgeous girls – and boys – coming in, and I followed.”

The creepy dude he had just insulted laughed humourlessly.

“And then you promptly decided to get wasted off my booze, hit on my girl, insult the host of the party and get yourself a one-way ticket for a sound beating.”

“What! No, no, I just…” To be fair, the guy did have a weasel face. He wouldn’t have said had he known he was the owner of this particular condo – and commander-in-chief of an army of gorillas – but then, how could he have known when weasel-face asked him who the hell he was and why he was there? “I had too much to drink. I apologise for causing a scene. But I meant no harm, swear to God!”

Weasel-face shook his head. His girlfriend, right by his side, looked at Jaskier with something akin to pity in her eyes. Seriously, though, who threw a party with so much security?! Had he accidentally walked into a mafia gathering or something? It had been a shitty day at the open mic bar he worked for, he had just wanted to let loose a bit.

“I don’t think you understand what your situation here is, douchebag.” The gorillas holding him tightened their grip on his arms. Jaskier gulped. Douche-face turned to his girl, which up until now he had only called ‘gorgeous’, or ‘sweetheart’. Jaskier was starting to believe he didn’t know what her name was. “What do you say, darling?” Suspicions confirmed. What an asshole. “Do you think Wolfie would like to meet him?”

The girl said nothing and looked down.

“Boys… let’s set up a meeting.”

*

Jaskier had no idea who this Wolfie was supposed to be, but he assumed he would _not_ enjoy meeting him.

“Fucking New York”, he muttered under his breath, walking around the room he had been unceremoniously thrown into and looking for an escape route. “Should’ve stayed in London, I should’ve. Trying to be a singer these days. Fucking insane…” he kept whispering obscenities, incapable of staying silent even – especially – in the face of danger. “Seriously, who does this?”

Congratulations, Jaskier, he thought. You officially annoyed the wrong people.

The room was inside the condo, but on a different floor, so at least he still knew where he was. He would be able to tell the police, assuming he still had a tongue by the end of the night. It was surprisingly plush and well-furnished, with a chocolate and cream palette and a soft lighting scheme. It wasn’t the worst place in the world to get murdered, or brutally beaten down, Jaskier supposed.

“This is totally going into a song,” he breathed out, looking around. “If I get out of this alive.”

What kind of a name is Wolfie, anyway? Was he going to get thrown to a dog? Was there any meat around? He checked, just in case. But no such luck, the room was, sadly, entirely meatless.

“Could have done with a snack, too,” he added to himself. Frankly, the alcohol was wearing off and he was starting to crave a burger. Too bad he was about to be cut into pieces.

When the door opened, he was bending backwards over the couch, trying to see if there was a cell phone lodged within the cushions. God knew it happened to him enough times.

“Oh,” he straightened up so quickly that blood rushed to his head. “Hello there. I…”

What the hell was this gorgeous, hunk of a model doing here?

Was this his punishment?

To see true beauty only to be deprived of it a moment later?

“I… hello.”

“Yes, you said that already,” Gorgeous growled and _HELLO, GROWLY VOICE_ , Jaskier’s traitorous dick promptly shouted.

The white hair did not put him off in the slightest. If anything, it was even more of a turn-on. Right along with the perfect, thick body, the ropes of muscles clearly visible under the well-tailored suit, and the expressive, almost-golden eyes which were currently staring daggers at him.

The silence was stretching.

“I had too much to drink,” he stupidly explained. The man rose his eyebrows.

“Obviously,” Tall and Menacing – Wolfie? – replied. “How old are you? Twelve?”

“Hey!” Jaskier took a step forward, his hands on his hips. “I’m 22, thank you very much! I just look amazingly young and well-preserved. I’ll have you know. Not everyone can have this skin. Then again, I have this amazing skincare routine I could recommend. Not that you need it. No offense, I mean, but… wow. Just wow. Are you Wolfie?” There he went again, meaning to say something and telling fifteen other somethings at the same time. The man face-palmed.

“Fuck.” Eloquent. “Who called me Wolfie? Why are you even here?”

Bad idea to ask Jaskier more than one question at a time. His verbal diarrhea immediately took center stage.

“And then this man, this… sorry, maybe he’s like your friend or something, but there’s no other way to explain it, this weasel-faced man, he tells me I’m going to meet Wolfie and next thing I know I’m in this room and then you walked in…”

“So you walked in following someone else,” Growly interrupted him, clearly fed up. He raised a hand. “Without knowing where you were going?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Are you mentally incompetent?”

“Hey, I… no!”

“Shut up. I need to make a phone call to the boss.”

 _Rude_ , Jaskier thought. But this particular Adonis didn’t seem inclined to beat him up, so he didn’t really want to get on his bad side. Maybe he could survive, this, after all.

And by the way, boss?

What?

“Yen,” Gorgeous growled into the phone. “Did you know that I was called away from the Marini deal tonight because a twink that looks twelve accidentally offended that moronic cousin of yours?”

Jaskier gasped, putting a hand on his heart to show him how outraged he was. Growly paid him no mind. He couldn’t hear what ‘Yen’ was saying on the other hand of the phone, but he assumed she wasn’t happy.

“Yes,” Growly continued. “He called me ‘Wolfie’ and promised this poor moron a beating.” Again, Jaskier took exception and tried to show it. He was ignored again. “I’m telling you, I’ve had enough of this horseshit. Does he think I’m one of his gorillas? And does he need to teach a lesson to every imbecile that happens to stumble in front of him? You should see this guy. He didn’t even know what kind of a party it was. Looks like a lost baby deer.”

Okay, he could work with baby deer. Big eyes and everything. Maybe he was starting to grow on him.

“Yeah, fine,” the man continued. “I’ll take him out.”

What! What the hell! Was he going to kill him?”

“Please don’t!” he begged, his eyes wide. “I’ll do anything you want! Look, man, I’ll… what do you want? A blowjob? I can do that. No hardship. Actually…”

“So you don’t want a ride home?” The man eyebrows had progressively raised more and more as he ranted. He stopped him the second his ramblings turned sexual, but, as Jaskier’s dick couldn’t help but notice, he didn’t seem disgusted. Maybe he was… amused? Yes, he was amused.

“A ride home?” he parroted back, shocked. “So you’re not…”

“Fuck, no,” the man cursed. Jaskier was falling in love with his curses. “You’re a kid. You did nothing wrong. I have a code. I don’t beat up kids just because they hit on the wrong girl and called a weasel a weasel.”

“So you agree with me!” Jaskier triumphantly threw his fist in the air. Growly rolled his eyes. “I’m no kid, though.”

“Whatever.” The man pulled out some car keys. “Want that ride or not? I just need to make sure Richie’s gorillas aren’t following you home. Then I’ll have a… talk with him. I need to explain a few things.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

The man blinked.

“This isn’t what you think it is,” he quickly explained before making for the door. “Coming?”

Jaskier hesitated for a bit. Then he took a few steps forward.

“I’m not in the habit of getting in cars with strangers.” He offered up his hand. “So, here. I’m Jaskier.”

The man seemed amused, but took his hand nonetheless. “Geralt.”

_Oh, Geralt. So many songs are going to be written about you._

*

Geralt drove him home without saying a single word. Every time the car’s display lit up with a phone call he brutally pushed on the wheel commands to refuse it. It didn’t stop Jaskier from reading the names of the people calling, though.

“So, this Yen… I’m guessing she’s your boss?”

“Hmm.”

Not a talker. Okay.

“And she’s…” He tried to get him to finish the sentence, but to no avail. Geralt kept his eyes on the road, his handsome face highlighted by the streetlamps. “She’s… well…”

Nothing. Ah, well. “She’s mafia?”

Geralt turned to look at him for a second, his lips tight at the corners. He promptly returned to look at the road.

“Please,” he scoffed. “She wishes.”

“Okay, then… she’s not mafia.”

Geralt sighed. “She’s not mafia, but you can’t find her on a list of respectable local young entrepreneurs. Make of that what you will.”

Jaskier chewed his bottom lip. He didn’t know what to make of it, honestly.

“And you’re, what, her henchman? Hitman? Bodyguard?”

He did look a bit annoyed at that.

“Not that you need to know any of this,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “But Yen’s basically family. I help out if she asks, but as you might have guessed from five minutes earlier, I’m my own man.”

“Yet you called her boss.”

“Mostly a moniker,” he chuckled. His eyes still fixed on the road, he smirked. “She loves it when I call her that.”

Oh. _Oh!_

“You’re lovers!” Okay, he could have sounded a little less accusatory. After all, gorgeous men like Geralt didn’t really go for broke aspiring singers like him. It’s not like he was expecting a good night kiss.

And didn’t that say a lot about him, by the way? He risked being beaten to death by this man, and all he can think of is his big, juicy…

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted his train of thoughts – _thank God_. “I’d be grateful if I never heard that word again.”

“Okay, okay,” Jaskier raised his hands. “You’re screwing, together, partners in crime, whatever you want to call it.”

For a minute or so, no one spoke again. Jaskier took it as confirmation. And he wasn’t going to insist on it. He was disappointed enough already.

“We used to,” Geralt abruptly started again, almost startling Jaskier. “Not anymore.”

Now, that was interesting. Why point it out? The topic had already been put aside. Why bring it up again if not for… did Geralt want to clarify that he was, as they say, _unencumbered_?

“Me neither,” he quickly replied. Then he groaned. “I mean, not with your boss. Yen. Whatever. Never met her. Obviously.” Geralt turned to look again. This time he looked worried about his sanity. “I mean… single. Yeah. Alone.” Okay, that made him sound pathetic.

“Good for you,” Geralt grunted. He turned a corner. They were getting nearer to Jaskier’s place. If by place you meant a shitty bedroom in a shared apartment with two meth-heads and a stripper.

“So… am I safe? Do I have to expect weasel-face’s henchmen on my doorstep in the immediate future?”

Geralt scoffed. “After Yen’s done with him, I don’t think Richie will ever remember his own name, let alone yours.”

“Is she going to kill him?!”

Geralt almost flinched. “Jesus. Don’t yell! And no, she’s going to talk to him, what the hell? I told you we’re not mafia.”

“I haven’t the slightest clue what you are, to be honest.”

“And you’re better off that way. Here, is this it?”

Jaskier looked at the depressing front of his building. He sighed. “Yeah, this is my castle.”

Back to normal, then. Sleep during the day. Sing at night. Hope the audience doesn’t get shit-faced and throw their glasses at him. Await old age and the inevitable death of his dreams.

“You don’t sound ecstatic about being home safe and sound. Would you have preferred I bashed your face in?”

“Please avoid the face,” he answered, automatically. Then he stopped as he was getting off the car and turned to look at Geralt. “I mean…”

“I know what you meant.” There was that amused look again. It looked good on him. then again, everything looked good on him.

“Want to come up? I can make you some coffee. I mean, it’s the least I could do.”

Geralt shook his head. “Early start tomorrow. Let me give you a piece of advice, though. If you see people going inside a building, don’t follow them just because they’re pretty.”

Jaskier laughed. “What can I say? I am a seeker of beauty.” He got off the car and walked around it to say goodnight to Geralt. The window rolled down. “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Don’t sound so happy.”

Jaskier, again, barked out a laugh, startled by the deadpan humour. “Sorry, sorry, I am grateful, I swear. It’s just… been a shitty night.” He hung his head low. He knew he sounded pathetic. It was just… it was easier to deal with bad days when they weren’t at the end of a bad week. Month. Year. 

Geralt didn’t answer. He did look a bit sympathetic, though.

“Good night, Geralt. Thank you.”

“Good night, Jaskier.”

He turned to walk up the stairs, sighing. Back to reality.

“Jaskier?”

He almost got whiplash.

“Yes?”

Geralt worried his bottom lip, like he couldn’t believe himself.

“I know a good bar nearby.”

*

Step 1 of seducing white-haired hunk named Geralt: get yourself invited to a bar.

Step 2: imply, very awkwardly, how single and ready to mingle you are, while not-so-surreptitiously finding out if he’s available too.

Step 3: grab the bar’s karaoke mic and proceed to make an utter fool of yourself.

“Jaskier, get down,” Geralt hissed. His man-bun was starting to get loose and the hair framing his face made him look even more attractive. Jaskier paid him no mind, though.

His rendition of _Into the unknown_ was subpar, he admitted it. He was a professional, after all. And alcohol tightened the vocal cords, everyone knew that. As he hit one of the high notes, everyone in the bar cringed, but none so much as Geralt. Everyone was a critic these days.

“Jaskier, get off that fucking stage!”

“Wait, wait!” he quickly swerved to avoid Geralt’s hands as he tried to grab him and drag him away. Not now, hands. Later. “Okay, wrong song choice, I get it. Let me just… Ha! There!”

“No one wants to hear this, moron, get off the stage,” Geralt growled, throwing worried looks around as the patrons groaned, seeing that Jaskier was nowhere near relinquishing the mic.

“Here! Listen to this!”

Now, _Dancing on my own_ was more his speed. And it didn’t have such high notes. He sang the few introductory bars, and immediately noticed how the atmosphere changed. Ha! He triumphantly and mentally fist-pumped. There.

_“I’m in the corner, watching you kiss her… oh-oh-oh.”_

Now Geralt was staring at him, but he didn’t look pissed off. He looked… intrigued. The bar was silent except for his voice. He only saw him.

_“And I’m giving it my all, but I’m not the guy you’re taking home.”_

As he reached the end of the song, Geralt began to smile. Now, that was a victory if he ever saw one. He even nailed the final high note. He knew it was only a matter of picking the right song.

_“The music dies… but you don’t see me standing here.”_

The magic was broken by the sudden applause and Jaskier blinked, harshly brought back to reality. A second later, a strong hand clapped him on the back.

“Good job, you redeemed yourself.” Geralt’s smile looked like a rare, and blinding, thing. “Now let’s go.”

“Sorry,” Jaskier apologised after they exited the bar. “It’s just, I was already on edge, and that one last drink really fucked me up.”

“It’s okay,” Geralt said. He didn’t touch him, even though his walk was less than stable, but he hovered close, clearly ready to catch him in case he stumbled. “That last song was… pretty good.”

“I want to be a singer,” he proudly proclaimed. “I will be. Just you wait.”

Geralt smiled again. “So long as you don’t sing Frozen again.”

“Ha!” Jaskier got the giggles. He always got the giggles when he was drunk.

“Oh, God, I’m a mess…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. There’s your place.”

“Yay.”

Geralt helped him on the stairs a bit, and then decided to say goodbye on the front door.

“Do I get a goodnight kiss then?”

_Fuck._

So much for being subtle.

“You,” Geralt said, grabbing the keys from his trembling hands and opening the door himself. “Get a bottle of water, an aspirin and possibly one hell of a hangover. Me? I’m going to get some sleep.”

“And your number,” Jaskier added. In for a penny... He knew he was pushing his luck. Geralt might have been slightly sympathetic towards his pitiful cause and everything, but he didn’t look like the type who would throw in a mercy fuck, too. In fact, this seemed like a good way to make him change his mind and beat him up, after all.

And then, an amazing thing happened.

“And my number,” Geralt agreed with a sigh, stealing Jaskier’s phone from his hand and quickly putting in his number. Geralt Rivia. Jaskier couldn’t believe it.

“Call me if that asshole sends someone after you,” Geralt continued as Jaskier gaped at his phone. “He won’t, but just in case…”

“I’m not a kid.” Jaskier didn’t know why it was important to repeat that, in that moment, but it was out before he could stop himself.

“I know.”

He did?

“Good night, little bard.”

Jaskier had the giggles again.

“Good night, White Wolf.”


	2. 2

Mmh. Cement.

His mouth was full of cement.

Now, how did cement get inside his mouth?

Jaskier slowly got up to a sitting position. He hadn’t had the presence of mind of putting a bottle of aspirin on the bedstand. And he hadn’t gotten any water.

Awesome.

But his phone… his phone, _fuck_.

“Okay, so I didn’t dream of this.”

He had the hunk’s number. He had his number.

Now, drunk Jaskier was a genius. Sober Jaskier could never have accomplished this huge feat.

He debated whether to text him now or wait a bit while he was brushing his teeth – goodbye, cement – but finally decided to wait. He was so fucking hangover, after all.

And he had gone to bed so late that he only had a few hours before his shift at the bar. So he had that to prepare for.

Sighing, he made himself a bowl of cereal that was more sugar than anything else, but happily munched on it as he studiously ignored the various stains and dirty pots left around by those animals he called roommates. At this time of day, they were usually recovering from whatever they had snorted up the night before. Better this way, since he was in no mood to interact with other humans.

A couple of hours later, he was finally ready to leave for work, when a loud knock interrupted his search for the keys.

He glanced through the spy-hole.

“Geralt?!”

Ok, another confirmation: no dream, after all.

“Jaskier? Are you okay?”

Geralt ignored his dopey smile and marched straight in, immediately investigating around the apartment and looking like he was on extremely high alert.

“What…? Okay? Yeah, I’m okay. Hangover, sure. I forgot the aspirin. And the water. And I didn’t really have any actual food. But yeah, I mean, considering…”

“Jaskier, focus,” Geralt growled, stopping right in front of him with a scowl.

“Hi,” Jaskier replied dumbly, raising a hand like it was a normal thing to do. Geralt blinked, clearly taken aback, and then rolled his eyes.

“Yen bit Richie’s head off,” he explained, resuming his search of the tiny, disgusting apartment. “We thought he got the message, but this morning, she writes to me. She's heard from one of her people that he’s pissed, and that he blames you for everything. Has he made contact? In any way?”

“Ah, no,” Jaskier answered, his eyes now wide. “I mean, not that I know of? I’ve been sleeping. I didn’t hear or receive anything in particular, that I can tell you…”

“Fuck,” Geralt sighed. “He’s probably waiting for you to get out of here.”

“Well, he’s going to get his wish soon, then,” Jaskier shrugged, grabbing his bag and keys. “Look, don’t get me wrong, I am extremely happy to see you so soon, wasn’t sure you were real, but one more absence from work and I’m done. Done, you hear me? Rob’s already so pissed at me for calling a customer a fat cow, I can’t exactly stay home forever.”

Geralt looked at him. His expression was completely blank.

“Fine.”

Jaskier started to nod, moving towards the door, but Geralt stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“I’ll come with you, then.”

Oh, but this day was turning out to be _amazing_.

Work was pretty easy. Bring people their food and drink, occasionally sit down at the piano or grab one of the guitars and entertain them with a song or two, then get back to taking orders and bringing trays.

Generally, his biggest difficulties were, in order: criticism from ignorant customers who told him to sing something a little _cheerier_ , ignorant customers who found the food awful, ignorant customers who threw a hissy fit because _excuse me, I asked for rye bread_ , and ignorant customers who did a mix of all this.

So, ignorant customers. Ignorant customers were his main problem.

Tonight, though, his main problem was not ignorant. Not even technically a customer, either, since that single beer he had ordered and had nursed since walking in didn’t really count as being a customer. Jaskier was pretty sure he hadn’t even paid for it.

His main problem had white hair, a body that just didn’t quit and stared. A lot. Especially as he was singing.

“This next song is dedicated to the Big White Wolf,” he said sourly into the mic, staring daggers at Geralt, who had the gall of raising his half-finished beer in a mock-toast to him. “As a way of encouraging to find somewhere else to look, as my life clearly isn’t in danger, and to maybe eat something.”

Geralt shrugged and kept a) looking at him b) sipping his beer. Jaskier hissed.

_“When… when we came home, worn to the bones, I told myself… this could get rough.”_

This was something of a crowd pleaser. People didn’t really like slow, soulful songs, not in this joint, but the chorus had enough grip to keep them appropriately entertained.

Animals.

_“Don’t walk away. Don’t roll your eyes. They say love is pain, well darling, let’s hurt tonight.”_

He chose not to look at Geralt. It would get too personal, and he didn’t have being drunk as an excuse anymore.

He finished the song without ever making eye-contact, and given the amount of applause he received, Rob deemed him worthy of a five-minute break.

He exited from the back of the building, where only staff went to smoke a cigarette or just, like in his case, take a breather. He sighed and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. Finally, a moment to think.

And then someone grabbed his arm.

“Hey!”

“Are you okay?”

Jaskier laughed. “Of course it’s you. I’m fine, as you can see.”

Geralt nodded. “I don’t think Richie was being serious. He would’ve done something by now. Yen probably tore him a new one again."

“Yeah, I mean, it doesn’t take a genius to see that I’m pretty harmless. Annoying, obviously yes, but not exactly a threat of any kind,” he attempted to laugh it off. It came off a bit cringey and pathetic, though. Geralt seemed to think so as well, because he didn’t make fun of him.

“That last song… that was something.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier carefully replied. _Prepare for the blow, prepare for the but_ , he thought. When none of it came, he prompted him: “But?”

“But what?”

“But… nothing, never mind.”

They stayed in silence for a minute, awkwardness rising within Jaskier, who never could understand why some people preferred the absence of noise. It was torture to him.

“So, I think you can leave no… mpf!”

Okay, so, kissing. He could do kissing. He was a proficient kisser. He was… he…

Oh, fuck.

Jaskier felt his knees go weak and immediately groaned. What the hell was happening now?

Okay, it was a good kiss, but he wasn’t about to faint for it? Right?!

He expected Geralt to catch him, but as it happened, it must have been that good for him, too, because they basically fell on their knees in front of the other, still holding on to each other, lips connected, but still.

“What…” he felt Geralt whisper. He sounded as astonished as Jaskier felt.

And then his head split and he screamed.

His scream echoed in Geralt’s throat.

_Geralt was lying on the grass. It was unseasonably warm._

_Jaskier was pretending to sleep, laying next to him. In reality, he was looking at Geralt._

_“Quit it.” A soft growl. Pretending to be big and scary._

_Jaskier smirked. He kept looking._

_/_

_As far as first kisses went, this wasn’t so bad, Jaskier believed._

_“We could have waited until you got the stench of that monster off of you, you know…”_

_Jaskier gasped and immediately went to cover Geralt’s hand – currently positioned on his crotch – with his own._

_“You were saying?”_

_“I was saying… fuck waiting.”_

_“Hmm.”_

_/_

_Fifteen years are not a long time for a witcher. Jaskier wore his age well, but he felt it, nevertheless._

_“It’s nothing,” he quickly anticipated as Geralt moved to help him. His left knee had always been a bit weak, anyway. “I don’t need help.”_

_Geralt looked like he very much wanted to disagree._

_“As you wish.”_

_It was always a bad sign whenever Geralt acted reasonable._

_/  
  
Geralt was polishing his sword. Jaskier lounged on the bed, happy and sated, sighing every now and then. _

_“Are you so satisfied that you have to compulsively sigh every five seconds?”_

_“Hey, don’t be so quick to judge,” Jaskier replied cheerfully. “When you get my age, you’ll see if you’re not proud that you can still get it up.”_

_Geralt stopped the hand moving the whetstone. Jaskier sighed, but for a different reason._

_“You never seem to have any difficulties in that regard.”_

_“Mmh, that’s because you’re a wet dream walking. It’s been happening.”_

_“I’m sure it’s nothing.”_

_Geralt always took mentions of his ripening age like that. As if they were not important, or non-existent. Jaskier was worried. He was tired of covering up white hairs with dark powder. One day, it was going to sneak up on Geralt, that his time was getting closer and closer._

_He hoped he wouldn’t be around when it happened._

_/_

_“You’re not ancient, Jaskier. Stop complaining.”_

_Jaskier was having heartburn. More and more, these days. It was like digesting had suddenly become impossible. He usually hid it well, but this time he let it slip._

_Geralt was having none of it._

_“Everyone has heartburn every now and then.”_

_“I’m old, Geralt.”_

_“No, you’re not. You look exactly the same.”_

_“To you, maybe.”_

_Geralt pursed his lips. Jaskier could see. Acceptance was still far away, but the beginning of understanding was finally dawning onto him._

_“You’re fifty years old. Not eighty.”_

_“And do you know many people who’ve lived more than fifty, sixty years?”_

_Geralt opened his mouth._

_“Without a little magical helper, that is.”_

_Geralt closed his mouth._

_/_  
  
Jaskier could pretend he was twenty when he was thirty. He could pretend to be forty when he was fifty. 

_But at sixty-one… he looked, acted and felt like a sixty-one-year-old man. Geralt couldn’t put it off any longer: he had to accept it._

_Jaskier was dying._

_“There is always something,” Geralt stubbornly stated whenever Jaskier couldn’t stop coughing, or was too weak to move. “I’ll see Yen. She’ll know.”_

_“I don’t want to prolong this, Witcher,” Jaskier replied, coughing a bit more. “The gods know I’ve lived a long and blessed life.”_

_“How can you be okay with this?”_

_Jaskier smiled and beckoned him to come closer. Closer to the bed he was confined to. Geralt knelt next to him and took his hand. Jaskier sighed and ran his hand through perfect white locks. He hadn’t aged a single day. How unfair. And how lucky for him, that he could still enjoy the sight of him._

_So long as his eyes held._

_“I got to spend my best years next to you,” he murmured. Geralt scoffed._

_“How very romantic,” he growled. “Life isn’t a ballad, you moron. Once you’re gone, you’re… gone. And I’m here. Alone.”_

_“That’s what worries me,” Jaskier sighed. “But you have to be smart about this. Promise me you won’t fuck up, Witcher. Don’t try to bring me back. Don’t try to prolong this. Just… let me go. Live. Go on. Fall in love again. Promise me.”_

_“I promise,” Geralt whispered. And if Jaskier fell asleep seconds later, and didn’t hear his muttered “Not”, well, whose fault was that?_

_/_

_It was time._

_Sixty-two. Ha. Not bad, considering that all his life people had been telling him he was too dumb and rash to live past the age of twenty-five. And not bad, considering how many near-misses there had been._

_A life next to a Witcher… it was never boring, that was for certain. It had its risks. It had its moments._

_It had been amazing. All of it._

_“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Now, Witchers didn’t whine. But if that word was out of question, then Jaskier didn’t really know how else to describe Geralt’s tone. Mournful, maybe. But he wasn’t gone yet._

_“I told you what to do,” he wheezed out, every ounce of strength he had left going into squeezing Geralt’s hand. “It’ll be easy.”_

_“Oh, shut up.”_

_Jaskier smiled. He felt so weak. He decided to close his eyes for a moment._

_/_

_“Is that you?”_

_The curtains moved. It might have seemed like it was the wind, but Geralt knew better._

_“I can’t believe you’ve decided to visit now. Of all time. Or maybe… maybe you knew that I was going to need you right here, right now. Maybe there is such as thing as destiny, after all.”_

_The curtains flowed back and forth. The sheets rustled. It was listening._

_“I freed you.”_

_Geralt’s eyes were set, his features as hard and as cold as stone. He looked at a random point in the room, feeling like he couldn’t do this while staring at the pale, frail, unmoving form of the old man in his dying bed. Jaskier was breathing rapidly now. He didn’t have much time._

_“I gave you your freedom. I helped. Now I need you to pay back that favour.”_

_The wind rose again._

_“I need to cancel one of my last wishes,” Geralt whispered. “And to make a new one.”_

Forgive me, love. I hope this works out.

“What…”

“You…”

Geralt and Jaskier came to at the same time, immediately repelling away from one another. Jaskier fell on his ass, his mind a whirlwind of flashback and revelations.

“What…” he gasped. He pointed at Geralt. “You!” he accused. “You had promised!”

Geralt seemed just as shocked as he was, but it didn’t prevent him from smirking a little. “I promised… not,” he replied, somewhat cheekily. He was now looking at Jaskier like he couldn’t believe he had found him again. Jaskier didn’t remember ever seeing that look, not in this life, not in his past one.

“And Yen,” he gasped, connecting the dots. “She’s here, too! You two are…”

“Hunting monsters,” Geralt immediately clarified. “Monsters are still a thing, even at this day and age.”

“So that’s what your little criminal organisation is,” Jaskier breathed out. Then he turned serious. “I told you not to do this.”

Geralt swallowed, eyes cast downwards. He looked like a man who was trying to look repentant when he actually wasn’t.

“I had to.”

“Oh, you gorgeous idiot.” Jaskier took his face between his hands. Geralt closed his eyes and inhaled sharply, covering the hands on his face with his own. “You got us another lifetime.”

“One when I’ll get to grow old with you,” Geralt added, smiling, his eyes still closed.

“I cannot believe you.” Jaskier started to laugh hysterically. “I cannot believe _this_.”

“It’s true. It’s happening.”

Jaskier pressed their lips together.

He was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was actually tearing up a bit while writing this. I was listening to 'show yourself' from Frozen II and it got me all emotional. I effing love happy endings.   
> Thanks, everyone. This is it.   
> Until the next one!

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know exactly what took over me. I don't:  
> -write soulmates AUs, and now I've written two.  
> -write Reincarnation AUs, and here we are.  
> -write more than one fic a year. 
> 
> These two idiots have driven me insane. Oh, well.  
> It's two chapters, and the other one is already ready. I just need to go through it with a fine comb and then I'll post it ^^ Most of the interesting stuff happens in that one, just a warning.  
> As usual, forgive me for any mistakes, English is not my first language.


End file.
